Rules of Play (The Script Club 2)

“You’re special. You’ve always been special. You never look to see who’s watching. You do your own thing and find genius ways to cope when you’re overwhelmed. I gotta say, I think most people would be better off if they read all the damn time…and occasionally wore a cape.”

George bit his bottom lip. “I’m a vampire, Aiden…a sorcerer and a master of dark arts.”

“I know you are, baby.” I caressed his cheek lovingly and smiled.

“You’re not placating me, are you?”

“Of course not.” I winked, pointing at his feet. “Where are your shoes?”

“On the bench. I love sand. I couldn’t resist.” He grinned, covering his toes.

“Sand? Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s a tactile thing. I like the feel of warm sand. I used to roll around in it when I was a kid. My poor mom. Seriously. She had two sporty sons and then me.” He gave a self-deprecating snort and motioned for me to follow him to the bench. He pulled cheese and crackers and a container of grapes from a giant tote bag and set them between us. “I was unintentionally very high-maintenance. I loved going to the beach when I was little, but I never wanted to go in the water. I just wanted to lie in the sand. No blanket, no towel. Weird, eh?”

“A little different,” I conceded.

George snickered. “I know. We had a sandbox in our backyard when we were kids. I’d pull up a chair like an old man on a fishing dock at the lake and run my toes through it while I read. And I could read like that for hours. I think I scared my parents. My dad especially. He didn’t know what to do with me, but he tried. He always included me in whatever sporty thing was happening. ‘I got tickets to the big game. Wanna come, Georgie?’ or ‘We’re throwing the ball in the backyard. Wanna join us, son?’ The answer was no. He didn’t give up, though. He took two strikes…as you baseball guys say—then he’d sit next to me, put his feet in the sandbox, and just…hang out. Sometimes he’d ask what I was reading. Sometimes he’d bring a magazine.”

“That’s cool.”

“It is. I’m lucky. If I’d been born in any other family, I probably would’ve been labeled a freak and left to fend for myself. Or worse.”

“You’re pretty tough. Give yourself some credit too, G,” I replied, twisting the cap off a water bottle.

“I will if you do too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re really fucking smart, Aiden. Really smart. You just forget to believe in yourself sometimes. You forget it’s okay to stick your feet in the sand just because you want to. You forget you don’t owe anyone an explanation. You get to be whoever you want. And I might be a little biased now, but…I like who you’ve become. Screw Hank. You’re going to be fine without him.” He grinned widely and held a piece of cheese to my lips. “Try the Tuscan. It’s fabulous.”

I let him feed me. I let him talk uninterrupted. I let him brush his sandy feet on the hem of my trousers. I let him cuddle close when the sun went down and the temperature dropped. I let the silence take over and let the moment take on a life of its own.

Maybe twenty minutes passed, maybe an hour, I didn’t know. Time was irrelevant when you were in the midst of a powerful personal discovery.

I wasn’t curious. I wasn’t going through a phase.

I was bi.

And I was in love with a man.

The problem was that I didn’t know what to do with that information. It was bigger than me. And I wasn’t ready to put this feeling into words. I wasn’t even sure I could. But I could show him.

I talked him out of the macabre double feature and suggested going back to my place instead. We discussed ordering pizza but forgot about it when our lips met and that familiar passion built like a firestorm, with hungry kisses and roving hands.

We undressed each other and fell onto my unmade bed, swaying and caressing, then grinding manically in a quest to get as physically close as possible. It was on the tip of my tongue to say something crazy like, “We should tell everyone about us.” That didn’t sound sexy in the heat of the moment, though, so I concentrated on him.

We moved together in a beautiful dance…a perfect give and take marked with soft sighs and sweet touches. And when our orgasms crested over us like a set of rolling waves, we held each other close.

I rested my forehead on his, stared into his eyes, and willed George to read my mind. I willed him to know how I felt about him. About us. I willed him to know that I was trying hard to become someone he deserved.